


30 Days of Compliments

by 2babyturtles



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Budding Romance, Building Relationship, Confessions of love, Drabbles, Fluff, Funny, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Romance, Sweet, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-29
Updated: 2017-08-29
Packaged: 2018-12-21 04:47:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11936625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/2babyturtles/pseuds/2babyturtles
Summary: “You doubt me? Really, John, I thought you’d’ve figured out by now that I am quite keen on achieving the impossible.” Sherlock sits back in his chair, sipping a cup of tea and evidently pondering how he might best perform this challenge.Sitting forward, John flips back to the page that started this conversation and reads aloud: “’Thirty Day Challenge. Starting now, make a point of giving at least one compliment a day and watch your outlook on life change entirely.’ There’s no way you could do it, Sherlock, you don’t even like people!”





	1. Days 1-10

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Verstimmtlovestoship](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Verstimmtlovestoship).



> Based on a prompt by Verstimmtlovestoship on Tumblr!: John bets Sherlock that he can’t compliment someone every day for a month. It ends up many of these compliments are aimed at John and it leads to them kissing/confessing or whatever.

**Day 1:**

“There’s no way,” John laughs, flipping to the next page of the magazine he’s been reading.

“You doubt me? Really, John, I thought you’d’ve figured out by now that I am quite keen on achieving the impossible.” Sherlock sits back in his chair, sipping a cup of tea and evidently pondering how he might best perform this challenge.

Sitting forward, John flips back to the page that started this conversation and reads aloud: “’Thirty Day Challenge. Starting now, make a point of giving at least one compliment a day and watch your outlook on life change entirely.’ There’s no way you could do it, Sherlock, you don’t even like people!”

Sherlock hums for a moment, considering. “And if I do?”

“If you do what?”

“If I do it? Thirty days of compliments. What then?” he asks, placing his tea down on the table beside him and steepling his fingers in front of his mouth. “Do I get a _prize_?” he adds sarcastically.

“Yes, of course. Weren’t you listening? Your entire outlook on life will change,” John responds seriously, ignoring Sherlock’s scoff. “It’s guaranteed by Cosmopolitan.”

Cocking his head, Sherlock makes a _be serious_ face at John, narrowing his eyes and pursing his lips. “That’s my whole prize? That’s not nearly enough.”

“You need a prize for being nice to people?”

“Yes, of course. Don’t we usually award prizes to people who accomplish something difficult?” They stare at each other in silence for a moment, disbelief painting a smile on John’s face and impatience a question on Sherlock’s.

Footsteps on the stairs break their focus and Sherlock returns to his cup of tea as John folds the magazine closed and stands. “That’ll be Molly,” he comments. His eyes suddenly get excited as the sound gets closer. “This is your chance, Sherlock. You can start now!”

“With Molly?”

“With Molly.”

They stare again, time’s passage marked by the nearing footsteps of the magazine’s owner. John raises his eyebrows and Sherlock cocks his head again. John nods and gestures towards the door and Sherlock shakes his head. Finally, John settles for a proper _I told you so_ look as Molly knocks. “I knew you couldn’t do it,” he whispers, just a moment before Molly steps inside.

“Hello,” she greets them shyly. “Thanks for not throwing it out. I probably should anyway, it’s not really a good magazine.”

“Oh, I dunno,” John responds, smiling as he hands it to her. “There’s some pretty good things in there.”

Molly takes it from him, confusion furrowing her brow and freezing her smile in place. “Oh, you- ah you read it? That’s a bit odd, isn’t it?”

“Molly!” Sherlock finally announces as if she’d only just walked in. He smiles awkwardly at her, glaring at John when she looks away.

“Hello, Sherlock,” she laughs. She takes a step back as if she’d much prefer to leave than to carry on with whatever oddity has put the boys in such a mood.

John crosses his arms over his chest and turns to face Sherlock, smirking at him behind Molly’s back. Sherlock opens his mouth and closes it again, pressing his lips together and brows down as he scans Molly with his eyes. “You look…healthy….”

With a growing smile, John turns his eyes back to Molly to see her reaction. “You, too, Sherlock. I’m gonna just… I’m gonna go.” She doesn’t hesitate before exiting back through the door and her rapid footsteps on the stairs make it clear she was ready to go.

“’You look healthy’?” John repeats, guffawing as he drops his arms and returns to his chair.

Sherlock’s mouth flattens into a line, his eyes still fixed on the door. “Why does anyone bother complimenting anyone else if they’re just going to get uncomfortable?” he asks incredulously.

Sliding down in his chair, an eager smile plastered on his face, John responds heartily: “They only get uncomfortable when _you_ compliment them, mate.”

Reaching across the side table for the kettle, Sherlock refills his teacup, adds milk, and takes another sip, grabbing a biscuit with his free hand. “Day one,” he announces, nodding to John. “Check.”

**Day 2:**

Their current case requires more travelling than usual and the number of cabs they’ve ridden through London has become rather overwhelming. The smeared cityscape rushes past the windows as they make their way, finally, back to 221B.  Rolling his shoulders, John turns each way to crack his back and his eyes fall on the driver.

“Gee, Sherlock,” he begins sarcastically, “it’s getting late and-“

“Yes, John, I’m quite aware,” Sherlock responds in a low grumble, keeping his eyes fixed out the window. Peering down city streets and watching the variety of passersby, Sherlock is intent on the view and John almost wonders if he’s planning to compliment a stranger.

When they arrive at Baker Street, Sherlock slides out first, leaving John to pay the cabby as usual. Stepping up to the front window as John passes a note to the front, Sherlock knocks softly and the driver rolls down his window. “You’re a very safe driver,” Sherlock tells him seriously, his expression laughably sincere.

John raises an eyebrow. _That’s it?_ he mouths, shaking his head.

Sherlock widens his eyes, confused. “And you’re quite handsome,” he adds uncertainly.

The driver tips his head back, obviously surprised. “Thank you, sir,” he responds as John slides out after Sherlock and shuts the door. “You are, too.”

Sherlock pulls his mouth together and stands to his full height. “Not a word,” he mutters as John bursts into laughter and the cabby pulls away.

 

**Day 3:**

“So have you got anything? The press are expecting an answer, soon.” Greg Lestrade’s stress is clear in his voice as he follows Sherlock around the lab.

“Since when do you care what the press thinks of you?” Sherlock responds shortly, moving a number of samples from his right side to his left to avoid them being close to the detective inspector.

Greg hesitates, trying to find an answer. “Since always, I think. But you’re always the hero in the newspaper so I’m doing it for you, really.”

Sherlock snorts as he leans forward, reaching for a vial of hydrogen peroxide from the center of the table. Greg’s eyes are turned the other way and John steps forward to retrieve the bottle, just out of Sherlock’s reach.

Surprised, Sherlock turns his eyes toward John as Greg continues to discuss the careful political dynamic between the Yard’s activities and the Yard’s public image, or some such nonsense. “Thank you, John,” Sherlock murmurs, unstoppering the bottle and inserting a pipet into the fluid. “You really are very helpful.”

A smirk crosses John’s face and he nods, accepting both the compliment and the completion of the task for the day. “Yeah,” he says. “Anytime.”

 

**Day 4:**

Setting down a plate of biscuits and a kettle of tea, Mrs. Hudson pauses to survey the room. The living room of 221B is always peacefulbefore John and Sherlock wake, when the sun tumbles through the curtains and the only noise is their gentle snoring from down the hall. A small smile dances across her face, softening her eyes and lightening her cheeks.

John’s door opens first and he stumbles into the hallway with bleary eyes. “G’morning,” he yawns, greeting Mrs. Hudson with a nod as he rubs his eyes.

“Good morning, John,” she responds adoringly. “Hot tea is here for you and I have more biscuits if you need any. Let Sherlock know, too,” she gestures to the plate and takes a step back, giving John room to walk by and patting his shoulder as he does.

“No need,” Sherlock’s voice rumbles from the hallway as he steps out, too. “I’m awake.”

“You’re both up early,” Mrs. Hudson muses, watching as Sherlock makes his way into the living room, still wearing his pajamas and dressing robe.

“Yeah, Lestrade said he had something to run by us this morning,” John explains, pouring himself a cuppa.

Sherlock yawns widely, rolling his shoulders like a cat and stretching. When he brings his arms back down he places them gently around Mrs. Hudson, who giggles softly.

“Oh, Sherlock, what’re you doing?” she laughs as he kisses her gently on the hair and moves to his chair opposite John.

“You’re really very nice, y’know. Thank you, Mrs. Hudson,” he murmurs sleepily, contentment plain on his face as he picks up a biscuit.

Without looking up, John smiles softly and nods.

**Day 5:**

“Anderson, you know I have no use for you. Why do you insist on hanging around when I’m working?” Sherlock grimaces, stepping around the scraggly man as he follows the set of muddy footprints through the garden.

“Because this is a crime scene, Holmes. I want to make sure you don’t ruin it.”

“I do believe there’s very little you could to stop me,” Sherlock responds, leaning forward and examining one footprint in particular with his magnifying glass.

Anderson steps forward so he’s in front of the detective, only barely managing to step over the print in the mud. “Is that a threat?” he demands.

“No,” he sighs, pushing Anderson heartily out of the way. “It’s an observation. To stop me messing up a crime scene you’d have to avoid doing it yourself.”

“What, Anderson messed himself?” John asks, approaching the two as he returns his phone to his pocket. “Rosie’s good,” he answers Sherlock’s questioning look. “School just wanted to confirm that she could go on today’s field trip.”

Sherlock nods, satisfied. “No, Anderson’s not messed himself. Merely destroying evidence.”

“I did no such thing,” he responds indignantly, stepping forward towards Sherlock with tight shoulders.

“Ah, bad luck,” John comments as Anderson’s shoe loses traction in the mud and he slips, landing hard on his backside. “You’d probably look less foolish with a diaper on.”

Sherlock chuckles loudly, his deep laugh bouncing through the air as Anderson struggles to regain his footing and John smiles. Finally settling on crawling towards more stable ground, Anderson leaves them behind with an angry snort. Sherlock’s eyes turn to John, exchanging a glance as they both laugh.

“You really are quite funny, John,” he remarks, clicking his magnifying glass shut.

John clears his throat, suppressing a smile with a small smirk instead. “Did he ruin the crime scene?” he asks, gesturing at the foot prints that have been obliterated.

“These? No, I just found these, they’re not part of the case. Thought it’d be fun to have Anderson follow these around instead.”

**Day 6:**

“These men have been evading police for _weeks_ ,” a woman describes from the telly. “But now finally, thanks to Sherlock Holmes, they’re behind bars. Miranda Knight with more. Miranda?”

John sighs as the screen shifts to a new scene and a woman in a heavy coat speaks outside the Scotland Yard station. “It’s a bit funny, isn’t it?” he muses, watching as the reporter steps dramatically down a set of stairs.

“What’s funny?” Sherlock drawls, his own attention fixed on a _Spot the Difference_ puzzle, the fourteenth he’s done in the last five minutes.

“The news,” John responds, gesturing to the television as Sherlock turns another page. “Greg’s whole team was on that case and you’re the one that gets all the credit. And you solved it,” he adds, stopping Sherlock’s protests before they can leave his mouth. “But they only ever talk about you. Like they don’t want to think the police could handle it.”

“They couldn’t handle it.”

“Right, I know that. That’s not what I’m getting at. You couldn’t do it all alone, either.”

Sherlock turns another page and takes a soft breath. “I didn’t do it alone,” he murmurs.

“What do you mean?”

Folding down his paper and fixing John with stern eyes. “I couldn’t do this alone, John,” he says softly. “You keep me going. You keep this whole thing going. Besides,” he adds, returning his eyes to his puzzle as John clears his throat and looks down at his hands. “I’d be lost without my blogger.”

 

**Day 7:**

The day drips on, drizzles of sun pouring through the window whenever the clouds break enough to allow it some freedom. Expecting a quiet day, John decided that he and Rosie could spend the time together, and they play together on the floor. Sherlock keeps his eyes fixed on the two of them, a laugh periodically crossing his face.

“Can you write ‘daddy’?” John asks, sitting behind Rosie with his arm around her back. “What’s the first sound?” Rosie shakes her head, one small fist clutching a crayon and the other waving passionately. “You don’t wanna spell that word? What do you wanna spell?”

She points excitedly at John’s face over her shoulder, poking him in the nose and laughing as he butts his face into her hand. “Daddy!” she exclaims, a smile gracing her expression.

Sherlock laughs as John grabs her finger. “Yes, but you said you don’t want to write ‘daddy’.” Swinging around, she points at Sherlock. “You want to spell ‘Sherlock’? That’s sort of a hard word.”

Rosie shakes her head again, blonde curls dancing as she moves. “Daddy!” she shouts again. Turning her attention to the free fist, she forces two fingers up and holds them in John’s face, bouncing excitedly. “I have this many daddies!”

John turns his eyes towards Sherlock who can’t keep a straight expression. _You’re a good father,_ Sherlock mouths, miming checking a list with one hand.

John laughs and kisses the top of Rosie’s head, not taking his eyes off Sherlock. “Yes, you do, sweetie.”

 

**Day 8:**

“Since when do you go to Church, Mycroft?” Sherlock jibes, crossing his legs resolutely and remaining firmly planted in his chair.

“Since mummy and daddy asked me to, and you’re coming with,” the elder grits,  pulling his pocket watch out by the chain and holding it up for Sherlock to see. “And we must go soon.”

Sherlock merely laughs, takes a sip of tea, and laughs again, drawing an annoyed expression from Mycroft, who groans and rolls his eyes. “I’m not going to Church, _big brother._ You can count on that.”

“What’s this about?” John asks, following Rosie out of their bedroom. “Are your parents in town? Is that what I heard?”

Mycroft sighs and smiles sardonically at him. “Yes, Dr. Watson, and they’d like to go to Church. Sherlock, however, does not wish to comply.”

“Me? You don’t either!”

“What about us?” John interrupts, stopping whatever insult Mycroft was about to toss. Watching the Holmes brothers argue was usually entertaining but he didn’t particularly want Rosie to watch. “We can go to Church,” he gestures at Rosie, who sucks her thumb apathetically.

Sherlock and Mycroft exchange a glance. “Well…Mummy does rather like Rosie,” Mycroft concedes slowly.

“And father’s always liked John,” Sherlock adds. They turn their gazes back to the father and daughter. “Would you really do that?”

“Sure,” John says, smiling. “I haven’t been in a long time and I’d like Rosie to try Sunday school.”

“Then it’s settled,” Mycroft announces, hardly able to contain his joy. “I’ll call them,” he adds, already dialing his phone.

“We’ll go get dressed,” John reports, nodding at the two. “Come on, Rosie.”

Still sucking her thumb, Rosie pads her way gently towards Sherlock and puts her other arm up, asking to be put in his lap. Sherlock succumbs, never quite able to say no to the girl, and rests his cheek against her forehead. “You’re such a good girl, Watson,” he mumbles gently.

John’s face softens as he watches, and his eyes are still fixated on the two when Mycroft completes his call. Glancing between the two, Mycroft leans back against the wall and breathes heavily. “Are you sure you don’t want to go, too, Sherlock?” he asks quietly.

Sherlock’s eyes are fixed on Rosie’s small hands, resting on the arm he wrapped around her, and he looks up slowly, first at Mycroft and then at John. “I suppose I could go,” he says finally, smiling when Rosie claps excitedly. She jumps from his lap and darts off towards her room with John, who follows her with a laugh. “You really are a good girl,” he repeats.

**Day 9:**

Sherlock is grumpy. He scowls and paces the living room aggressively. His thumping footsteps could certainly be heard from downstairs, but Mrs. Hudson has wisely chosen to avoid confrontation with the detective.

“Just one more time,” Lestrade pleads, his voice thick with desperation.

“Just one more time! Just one more time! It’s never just one more time, _Detective Inspector_ ,” Sherlock growls back, not pleased with the terms of the request.

John sits in his usual chair and drums his fingers against the arm. “It’s really not so bad, Sherlock,” he coaxes quietly.

Sherlock cocks his head sarcastically and stares at them both with heat in his eyes. “Not so bad? You wear it then! Either of you!”

“I would if it would get the job done,” Lestrade admits, sighing into himself. “We’re desperate, Sherlock.”

Sighing, Sherlock sits on the couch at the far side of the room and glowers with an expression well befitting a child. “This damn hat has followed me for the better part of ten years,” he mutters, eyes turned away.

“One more press conference?” Lestrade asks quietly. “Wear the hat for one more press conference.”

Sherlock huffs and slides down in his seat. “Fine,” he spits.

“Thank you, Sherlock, thank yo-“

“But this is your fault.”

“My fault?” Lestrade marvels, standing and grabbing his scarf from the back of his chair.

“Both of your faults,” Sherlock responds, crossing his arms over himself and fixing them each with a hardened stare. “If you weren’t both such good men, it wouldn’t be so hard to say no to you.”

John smiles and Lestrade laughs for a moment before his expression falls. “You say no to me all the time,” he decides. “What does that say about me if you couldn’t say no to a good man?”

“That John’s a better one!”

 

**Day 10:**

A young woman sits on the edge of the chair, rocking anxiously back and forth, her voice choked as she relates her story. “My pa was only gone a couple of days,” she whispers. “But when he came back, he didn’t have the same light in him anymore, y’know?”

 John nods empathetically as he takes notes. “What happened that brought you here, then?” he urges.

“He disappeared again, and when he came back he was happy. I think he’s- I think-“ she bursts into sobs and covers her face with her hands, doing a poor job hiding her face.

“He’s not,” Sherlock announces. “If he was having an affair, he wouldn’t come back at all. No, he’s got a drinking problem and-“ before he can continue, the girl bursts from her seat and runs out of the room, crying even harder.

John watches her go with a sad expression, evidently relating to her on some level. “Geez, Sherlock,” he mutters, shaking his head. “You really are so good with people, aren’t you?” he adds sarcastically.

“Hmm, no,” Sherlock decides, watching as John begins scribbling out sensitive information from the notebook. “But you really are.” Sighing, he pushes himself into a standing position and follows the girl out the door. “You make me a better man, John. I’ll go apologize.”


	2. Days 11-16

**Day 11:**

The lab is full of medical students very shortly after a group of interested high schoolers meanders out. The difference between the two groups is almost non-existent and Molly watches with barely disguised disgust.

“Were we like that?” she asks Sherlock. His expression mirrors hers and he shakes his head.

“I don’t think so. Do you really think any of them could do what we do?”

She turns her eyes to look at him, a question on her face. “What do you mean?”

“I can’t see either of you being raucous or bawdy,” John adds, his own eyes still fixed on the incoming students.

“A doctor,” Sherlock explains, gesturing at John, “a pathologist,” to Molly, “and the world’s only consulting detective,” to himself. “Not many of these students will graduate, let alone go on to make a difference.”

John smiles and glances at Molly who meets his gaze with bubbles in her eyes. She takes a deep breath and looks back at Sherlock, who glances from her, to John, and back to the students.

“You two will be fine,” he insists. “You’re some of the smartest people I know.”

 

**Day 12:**

“Must _every_ day be a battle with you?” Mycroft groans, rubbing his eyes. “It’s not as hard as you’re making it seem.”

Sherlock’s eyebrows come together angrily. “Mycroft, don’t be so harsh. You’re being unfair.”

“Unfair? This is ridiculous.”

“Mrs. Hudson, can’t you tell him?”

Mrs. Hudson sighs, glancing from one brother to the other before fixing her eyes on Rosie in the middle. “I think you’re doing just fine, dear,” she tells the child. “Your letters are better than mine were when I was that age.”

“But letters aren’t hard!” Mycroft exclaims, exasperated, as Sherlock nods smugly and gathers Rosie in his arms.

“Don’t let big bad Mr. Mycroft give you a hard time, Watson. You’ve gotta tell him he’s no good,” he tells her quietly, peeking at his brother from behind her hair.

Rosie nods and yawns massively, her eyes drooping despite a smile on her face. “Oh dear me,” Mrs. Hudson announces, reaching out to take the girl from Sherlock. “I do think it’s naptime,” she says. Rosie’s face contorts into a pout for only a moment before she looks up at the old woman and nods sadly, resigning herself to her exhaustion. “Let’s put you to sleep, little one.”

Mycroft watches Mrs. Hudson lead the girl down the hall as Sherlock begins picking up the paper and pens she left behind. “You’re a parent,” he muses, sitting at the edge of John’s chair.

“I suppose so,” Sherlock shrugs, carefully keeping his face neutral. He can feel Mycroft’s eyes on his back.

“Sherlock, I want you to know I-“

The door opening interrupts whatever he was going to say and Sherlock nods as John walks in. “Rosie down for a nap?” he asks, setting down his briefcase by the door and stripping his jacket off.

“Just,” Mycroft responds, clearing his throat. “Mrs. Hudson’s putting her down now.”

“Gotcha. I hope you two enjoyed yourselves?” John queries, moving to the kitchen and glancing around for a moment before settling on a takeout menu on the table. “Not too much arguing I hope?”

Sherlock glances up at Mycroft who tightens his face, daring Sherlock to say they fought. “Not too much,” Sherlock confirms. “Mycroft might actually be a fair parent someday.”

“Me?” Mycroft yelps, ignoring John’s laughter from the kitchen. “You think I’d ever be a parent? No thank you.”

“I didn’t say you’d be a parent,” Sherlock responds bitterly, returning to his feet and placing the crayons and paper on the table near John. “I said you wouldn’t be complete rubbish at it if you were.”

“And that’s as close to a compliment as you’ll get from this one, Mycroft,” John says, nodding to acknowledge Sherlock’s effort.

Mycroft rubs his neck, staring at the floor where they’d sat with Rosie. “Not much of a compliment,” he decides.

“Eh,” John points at the menu for Chinese food and Sherlock nods, taking it from him to decide what he wants. “We’ll count it,” he decides, miming checking a box with one hand.

**Day 13:**

“This is terribly difficult,” Sherlock whines, laying on his side on the couch, a nicotine patch showing under his sleeve.

“Being nice is difficult?” John laughs, peering out the window. “It’s strange, I thought we’d be busier today.”

“Being nice to people is difficult,” he responds, ignoring John’s second comment. “I can be nice to you.”

John draws his head back, surprised, and laughs. “Does that mean I’m not a person? When are you nice to me?”

Grumbling, Sherlock pulls himself into a sitting position, his robe sliding off one shoulder to reveal a ratty grey tee shirt underneath. “In context, please,” he huffs, narrowing his eyes at John.

“What context?” John laughs, looking hopefully at a young couple walking up the street.

“Oh, don’t be daft,” Sherlock groans, rubbing his eyes again. “In _context_ of this challenge. I’ve been doing good! Complimented somebody everyday. But I’m running out of nice things to say to other people.”

John laughs again, glancing at Sherlock. “I guess I should be flattered?” he grins. “You really should get dressed, Sherlock, what if we get clients?”

“I don’t think you should be flattered at all,” he responds, eyeing his nicotine patch carefully. “This isn’t doing enough,” he sighs.

“I’m not flattered because I don’t think I’m any easier to compliment! You just need some more practice. And a proper outfit.”

“I’ve been practicing! What is today? Day thirteen or something dreadful?” Leaning towards the side-table, he grabs another patch off the stack there and peels the sticky backing.

John gives up on his search out the window when the young couple disappears up the street and he returns to his chair, grabbing his laptop on the way there. “You know, most people don’t need to _practice_ ,” he warns. “I’ll check the email, maybe there’s a case there.”

“I’m not _most people_ am I? Besides, I’ve just said it’s easy enough with you. Clearly I’m not the problem, it’s everybody else.” Carefully spreading the patch on his other forearm, he breathes deeply and returns to his side, his eyes closed.

“Well then just use me again today and compliment somebody else tomorrow.”

“Why do I have to compliment somebody else?” He opens one eye and peers grumpily at John.

John squints at the computer, searching through emails with a hopeful face. “Because,” he mumbles, not paying much attention. “You’ll run out of things to say about me. Best save those for a ‘rainy day’.”

Sherlock slams shut his eye and grumbles quietly. “I doubt that. That jumper looks lovely on you, John. You’re a great father. You inspire the masses to be better people. You’re deserving of far better than this world has granted you. You’re the strongest person I know. It goes on.”

When he opens his eyes again, John is staring at him. Sherlock’s stomach tenses and his expression narrows. Coughing to clear his throat, John wrinkles his face and sniffs awkwardly. “D’you mean that?” he asks with a heavy voice.

Sherlock searches John’s face for what feels like a long time before closing his eyes and rolling onto his other side. “Just part of the challenge.”

 

**Day 14:**

When a case finally did arrive, the boys had hoped it would be a more exciting one. Still, they were tight on money and John insisted they took the case. Now, sitting on the floor examining hundreds of pictures from a strange woman’s old Polaroid camera, he almost regrets that.

“This should be easy for you,” he says, leaning over a photo of a tree and examining the branches. “You do those bloody puzzles all the time, isn’t this sort of the same?”

“How is this the same at all?” Sherlock shoots back, picking up and comparing two different angles of the same man. “Figuring out who murdered her father by looking at pictures of the last day he was alive, and finding the differences between two otherwise identical images are not the same thing at all.”

John sighs and chooses an image of a toddler, smiling at the expression on the child’s face. “I wish it was,” he muses. “It’d go a lot faster.”

“Mmm.” Focusing as hard as he is, Sherlock hardly feels up to conversation. They peer at the images for another hour before John finally gives up and pushes himself to his feet, rolling out his sore joints and wincing. He stretches his back and yawns, looking around the room with bleary eyes.

“You’re the strongest person I know, too,” he says, nodding as if he’s come to a conclusion to something that’s been bothering him.

Sherlock pauses and looks up. A soft blush warms his face and his eyes seem to melt. “Thank you, John.”

“You can’t get out of it today, though just because you used several yesterday. Gotta find somebody!” he laughs, forcing a smile and some levity as he aims himself towards the kitchen, eyeing a box of biscuits.

“I think I have,” Sherlock murmurs, returning his focus to the pictures. “You’re a rather good friend, John”

**Day 15:**

“Can’t you please… _please please_ …just come take a quick look?”

“No! Absolutely not. Look, I’m very busy,” Sherlock waves the stack of Polaroids around, eliciting little sympathy from the desperate Detective Inspector.

“Come on, Sherlock, we need you. I- I need you.” Lestrades hands come together in front of him, a humiliating posture that speaks to his fears about the case at hand. John smiles; these two are always so entertaining for him.

Sherlock rolls his eyes and sets the images down. “You can’t possibly be so desperate,” he grimaces, waving a hand at Lestrade, who drops his begging position with a defeated sigh.

“Greg, you’re really worried about this. Why?” John finally interjects, a smile still tugging at his mouth.

Frowning at each of them in turn, Lestrade closes his eyes for a moment before answering. “Honestly, I just don’t think I can do it. This one is clever and I don’t think I can do it.”

John’s smile fades as he realizes the consequences that have been realized for Lestrade by working so closely with Sherlock. “You don’t think so?” Sherlock urges, his mouth setting in another grimace. “Or the Yard doesn’t?”

Sighing, John looks away. He knows Sherlock is right to ask because it’s quite likely that Lestrade has lost reputation by being seen to rely on the consulting detective for so much. Still, it’s a painful discussion to have.

“Both,” he sighs. “I dunno. Maybe both. I don’t have any respect anymore.”

Sherlock examines the man carefully and John wonders what he’s observing—or deducing—about the situation. “I’ll go,” he finally concedes. “But I’m not helping the case, I’m helping you.”

“Whaddya mean? I need your help on the case!”

“No you don’t,” Sherlock says, standing and gesturing for Lestrade and John to do the same. “I’ll make a show of this for you, and _I’ll_ ask _your_ help.”

Lestrade’s eyes are wide and even John is taken aback by the offer. “You’d do that…? For me…? Why?”

Sherlock takes a deep breath and fixes the detective with a warm expression, albeit a stern one. “Because I _do_ respect you, Greg. You absolutely deserve it.”

**Day 16:**

Despite Sherlock’s encouragement, it did rather seem that Lestrade was out of his depth with this case. However, after procuring a promise from John not to blog about the case, Sherlock agreed to help behind-the-scenes.  Watching from behind the one-way mirror, John and Sherlock can’t help admiring the perseverance of the Scotland Yard and their favorite detective on the force.

“He’s really stubborn,” John remarks, watching as Lestrade shifts between good cop and bad cop himself. “Does he always do these alone?”

“Not always. I think Donovan usually does them with him but he didn’t want to hear what she had to say about us being here.”

John nods, understanding, and they’re silent for a while, listening to the interrogation. “It’s a good thing you’re doing here,” he comments, leaning towards Sherlock without looking at him. “Bit awkward, right?”

“A bit.” Sherlock’s eyes are glued to the suspect’s face, searching for signs of deception. If he can’t help—or won’t help—by being involved in the interrogation, the least he can do is assess the accuracy of it.

John yawns, grunting as he pushes his tiredness back down. “It’s getting so late,” he grumbles, rubbing his eyes. “Mrs. Hudson’s been watching Rosie for _hours._ ”

“Saves us rent,” Sherlock replies, chuckling. Normally, John would pay a babysitter. But Mrs. Hudson loves Rosie so much that she knocks the rate off their rent if they let her watch the girl. “And I’m sure Rosie’s fine,” he adds as an afterthought.

John’s eyes grow soft but his mouth tightens. “I feel bad leaving her with other people so much.”

“You really shouldn’t worry, John. You’re doing the world for that little girl and she will always know that her daddy loves her more than anything.”

Breathing deeply, John’s shoulders relax and he claps a hand on Sherlock’s back. “I guess you’re right,” he murmurs happily. “Both her daddies.”


	3. Days 17-20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short, I know, but this took me way too bloody long. And really, the day count is short but it's still over 1600 words! Enjoy. :)

**Day 17:**

The world spins around Sherlock and colors blur into a smear across his vision. Blood rushes to his head. The nearby giggling of a young girl brings a smile to his face and he can’t help laughing along with her.

“Higher, Daddy!” she shouts. Whether to him or to John it doesn’t matter. Sherlock turns his head despite the force against him and grins at the way her curls swing through the air and the bloodrush to her cheeks gives her a ruddy expression. “Higher! Higher!”

“That’s high enough,” John laughs from above Sherlock and he turns his head back to smile at his friend.

The swings always were Sherlock’s favorite playground toy and he’s excited to share that with Rosie. Holding onto the chains and leaning back, ankles locked together underneath the seat, he swings nearly upside down and his black curls dance through the air. It’s no wonder people aren’t sure whether Rosie is his or John’s.

“You look silly, Daddy,” Rosie announces, pointing at John. Her own bucket seat doesn’t let her hang backwards as far as Sherlock can, but that’s just as well. John hardly thinks he could handle seeing them both be so reckless, and he prefers to keep his feet planted firmly on the ground.

“I look silly? _You_ look silly! Look at your face!” John replies with mock indignation. He reaches out to tickle her stomach and her giggles only increase.

“You do look rather silly, John, but I don’t think it’s because of the angle,” Sherlock remarks. “I think it’s just your face.”

John scoffs, cocking his head as far as he can to look right-side up at Sherlock. “I dunno, I think you look pretty funny yourself.”

“Well you’re still not upside down enough,” Sherlock laughs, winking at Rosie. His swing had nearly come to a stop and Rosie claps as she watches Sherlock hang upside down in place. John presses his lips together, trying not to laugh himself, and trying to calculate the best way to get all the way upside down without putting his head between his legs.

With the pealing laughter of his daughter egging him on, John steps around Sherlock, leaning forward so their knees are together. Grabbing the chains above Sherlock’s hands, John leans forward until he can Sherlock’s face. “Do I still look funny?” he demands, laughing.

“Almost,” Sherlock responds dangerously. John’s face turns questioning as Sherlock releases his ankles and pushes forward, dislodging John’s feet. Tumbling forward, John lands squarely on Sherlock’s chest with a grunt. Laughing despite the extra weight on him, Sherlock glances down at his friend. “Yes, John. I think you do still look funny.”

Rosie claps and laughs, kicking her legs as John pushes himself up off Sherlock only to fall down again. “Funny,” John replies sarcastically, leaning forward. The chains dig into Sherlock’s fingers and he laughs painfully as John edges back and bends one of his legs.

“What’re you doing? John, ow ow, what’re you doing?”

“I’m too short! I can’t reach the ground that way I have to go forward.”

Sherlock’s head snaps up and he looks at John with a hint of panic in his face despite the laughter. “’Forward’? As in over my head? That’s a terrible idea, here let me just…” he leans forward himself, pulling hard and planting his feet firmly on the ground.

“I still can’t reach, I’m gonna fall,” John grumbles, hitching one leg over Sherlock’s thigh. "Hush, you,” he adds, pointing at Rosie with a small smile.

“No, just hold on,” Sherlock responds, letting go of the chain with one hand. He flexes his hand and hisses as feeling returns to his pale fingers and then moves to place one arm around John.

“Yes, I wonder where the rumours start,” John grimaces, laughing despite himself. “If my damn pants weren’t so tight I could get one leg down.”

“Oh, you’re fine. Just let me slide forward,” Sherlock decides, edging far enough forward on his seat that John can hook a foot in the playground dirt and push himself to his feet.

By the time they finally both get to their feet and dust off, their clothes are wrinkled messes and their hair is tousled all out of place. “How about now?” John asks, returning to the original question. “I must look funny now.”

Watching as John takes the short steps to Rosie and scoops the girl into his arms, Sherlock is quiet for a moment. John glances back up at him after he retrieves his daughter, a smile still on his face. “No, John. I don’t think you look funny at all.”

John blinks softly, closing his mouth and swallowing hard. “Does that count as a compliment?”

“Yes,” Sherlock murmurs. “I rather think you should take it as one.”

 

**Day 18:**

It’s quiet in 221B. With Rosie at school and no new clients, John and Sherlock sit at home with little to occupy them, and little more to distract them. It’s the odd sort of quiet when two people could talk about anything and so have nothing to say. But it’s comfortable.

A faint smile traces the lines in John’s face as he searches the web, idly browsing for something to entertain him, while Sherlock watches telly. It’s not often he can be kept focused on a television show, but in this case it’s better than wasting any more time memorizing upcoming weather patterns throughout the UK.

Eyes fixed on the screen, Sherlock pays little mind when the distinct text alert of Irene Adler sounds on his mobile phone. John’s eyes flick up from his laptop, first to the phone and then to Sherlock’s deliberately inscrutable expression. “All these years,” he muses. “And you’ve never…?”

“Once,” Sherlock responds sharply. His eyes are dark and his mouth is a sharp line carved into a stony expression.

John’s eyes widen for a moment and he blinks in surprise. “Ah. So you…met her? Once?”

Sherlock moves gaze slowly, as if he might blink in the interim but doesn’t. “Once,” he repeats.

“And you…You did…?”

“Once.”

Silence returns to the room and each mans’ eyes return to the previous object of his attention, although their minds certainly do not. “So what do you think?” John finally asks, doing his best to sound casual. “Still ‘not your area’?” he laughs, thinking of the first night they met.

“Quite so, I’m afraid,” Sherlock grimaces. John’s mouth turns involuntarily into a smirk. Cocking an eyebrow at his friend, Sherlock reaches for his phone with one hand and taps the screen open. “’Hello,’” he reads aloud as he types. “’You’re lovely.’” Without another word, he presses send and locks the device again, returning it to the side table.

They’re quiet for a moment until suddenly John’s smirk grows into a full smile and he bursts into laughter. After a moment’s hesitation, Sherlock can’t help himself and laughs, too. “She’s going to write back!” he cries, staring at his phone like it might explode. “What am I going to say then?” Their laughter continues until both men are clutching their sides, with tears streaming down their cheeks.

“Check,” John mimes.

 

**Day 19:**

Knocking softly, Molly pushes open the door of 221B and smiles at Sherlock and John. Rosie is sitting on the floor and turns around to face her, clapping excitedly. “Did you have a good day at school?” Molly asks, crouching and planting a soft kiss on Rosie’s forehead. The girl nods eagerly. “Good,” Molly smiles. “What about you two? Good day?”

Sitting forward on the edge of his seat, John smiles and nods softly. “It was alright,” he responds. “Bit dull. Still waiting for new clients.”

“You’ve not had any?”

“Oh we have,” he grumbles, looking pointedly at Sherlock. “Somebody made them think they weren’t interesting enough to waste our time with.”

“They weren’t” Sherlock sighs, not glancing up from his phone. “Hello, Molly.”

John and Molly exchange a glance, the former shaking his head and the latter smirking. “Hello, Sherlock.”

“What’re you doing here?” John blurts, a smile softening his awkward reaction. “I mean, we’re happy to see you of course. But I don’t think you came for a social visit.”

Molly laughs as she offers Rosie a block with a number four on it. “No, I’m going shopping with Mrs. Hudson. Thought she could use the company and thought I’d stop by to see Rosie.”

Dragging his eyes from his phone, Sherlock looks Molly squarely in the face. Her simply hair pulled back in a simple ponytail and her simple smile gracing her simple expression. Her simple eyes shining with a simple love of the world and of people. “You’re a good person, Molly.”

She’s quiet for a moment, observing his expression softly. “Thanks, Sherlock. You are, too.”

His eyes bore into her. “Nobody says that,” he whispers. “Just John.”

“That’s all you need, though,” she muses, smiling. “Just John.”

**Day 20:**

“Ten days left!” John announces as he serves Rosie her plate of eggs.

“Eleven,” Sherlock replies, grouching as he takes a seat and eyes Rosie’s eggs. “Are you going to eat all those, Watson?” he asks her. She shakes her head and divides the portion in half, keeping a piece of jam toast for herself. “Smart girl,” he cheers, taking a bite.

“Rosie, you don’t have to give him your food,” John sighs, cocking his head. “He’s a big boy and he can get his own.”

Sherlock swallows and reaches for another bite, edging his fork around John’s arm when the doctor tries to stop him. “Please, John, you really are such a good cook. I’d much rather eat these eggs.”

John laughs sharply as he returns his arms to his side, shaking his head. “Check,” he mutters, miming the action and doing his best to ignore Sherlock’s smirk. “I’ll make some more, then?”

Rosie and Sherlock both nod eagerly, exchanging a quiet high-five under the table.


End file.
